Reflecting on the class of 2010's first college semester

I miss the class of 2010. I really love my students this year, too, but each class has a unique personality. The class of 2010 sometimes called me mom, put up with me when I had swine flu and was so medicated I was basically stoned while lecturing on the Oedipus complex (fun!), convinced me to dance with them at their Prom, and rallied behind each other through all the good and the bad that year. The class of 2010 wrote me notes, discussed LOST at length with me, knew about secret socks, and taught me the balance between being a teacher and a human being. As many of last year's seniors wrap up their first semesters of college, I wonder what new life experiences they have now that they have been out of their element for half a high school year. I've written about being 18 before, but being a freshmen in college is such an amazing time. The only time that was better was being a senior in college. I'd never want to go back to high school but I'd absolutely go back to college.

Living in the dorms was a strange experience. I had never shared a room with anyone before and I liked the company a lot. I loved how the dorms were constantly alive with activity. Someone was always awake; you were never alone.

Then, I got sick my freshmen year. Really, really sick. I was violently ill all night before an 8 A.M final; I spent the night puking into a trash can (On a side-note: Remember when 8 was just so early?). I know I kept my poor roommate up all night, too, because I really call the dinosaurs when I dry-heave. When I dragged myself to the shower the next morning, my reflection revealed two solid black eyes; nearly every capillary in my eye-sockets had burst. I was a hot-mess, minus the hot. By the afternoon, I couldn't lift myself out of bed and the resident advisor called 911. Twelve EMTs came to help. "Help" consisted of telling me my lungs were tight and my breathing was shallow, as if I was unaware of my asthma. Then they drove me .25 miles with no lights nor sirens and charged me 700 dollars. So helpful.

The rumors about my hospital trip were hilarious. When I returned, people looked at me sideways. They heard I had alcohol poisoning, that I had an eating disorder and -so awesome- that I had some sort of psychotic break and collapsed in the stairwell.

None of this was true, obviously. At least, I don't feel like I had a psychotic break. It was fun to be known as the girl who went away in an ambulance. Once  I clarified that I just had had the flu, it seemed anti-climactic. Sorry being on the brink of death with the flu went out style in the middle ages. I always was a step behind.

I did meet a lot of new people this way. Who knew nearly dying would help me make so many connections in my new city?

I really hope that the class of 2010 enjoyed their first semester and that they have some great stories to tell. My only hope is that their stories don't involve near death experiences, 700 dollar uninsured ambulance rides, or pretending to be cacti on Campanile Drive.

Dogs in the Street

If you know me, you will know right away that my Achilles' Heel involves anything related to animals getting hurt. I would do anything to help an animal. My friend Michelle and I once tried to wrangle two scary pit bulls that were lost. Even though that ended up with Michelle using me as a human shield with me nearly getting eaten while screaming, "Make yourself look big!" I would definitely do that again. Maybe because I'm a glutton for punishment, but that's a different post. 

I wrote this in my writing-journal after a typical experience with one of my wacky neighbors: 

People should have to get a license to own animals.

Upon arriving home from happy hour yesterday, a neighborhood dog was standing in the middle of the street, eating something that might have been Taco Bell, but nonetheless unidentifiable. I know where this dog lives because I’ve returned the poor guy no less than three other times. I assumed that the dog was some sort of ninja, scaling fences and digging secret tunnels to freedom. Yesterday, however, I pulled my car over and called to the dog. He was doing that weird tail-wagging, barking, "maybe I’ll lick you or maybe I’ll bite you" thing so I kept my distance. As I was coaxing the potentially vicious mutt out of the middle of the street, a young teenage girl drove wildly down the street, swerving her car around, tires screeching. We made eye contact; I know she saw me standing there doing the Stray Mutt Shuffle. 

Slowing down would have been much too inconvenient, I agree.

Meanwhile, the dog has decided NOT to eat my arm but still won’t move out of the street. I turn and face the direction of the house I know belongs to the dog. I see a shadow lurking in the front window. Most of you know eyesight isn't really my thing, so I wasn't sure if I was seeing what I thought I was seeing. Then I realize I was not mistaken: The owner is watching me! Just standing there, watching me try to keep her dog from getting run over! I call to her –hey! Isn’t this your dog?- Even though I know full well it IS her dog because I’ve done this several times before. She hollers back, “yeah, he’s nice. Don’t worry” To which I said “Yes, but he is IN THE STREET lady! Do you want to get him?” To which she nonchalantly replies, “I suppose that’s not the best place for him, but he was happy there so…” as she burdened herself with her pet’s retrieval I got back into my car and thought to myself “Please, please lady…don’t procreate!”